


Experiments

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood Kink, Bondage, Cutting, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stein knew that he skimped on the anesthetic this time." Spirit wakes up on Stein's operating table. Stein improvises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liahjh1289](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=liahjh1289).



Stein knew that he skimped on the anesthetic this time. He knew before he ever slid the needle into Spirit’s vein that it wasn’t enough, that Spirit would certain come back to bleary consciousness well before he was done, and then he dawdled once the weapon was out so Spirit mumbles and shifts and blinks his eyes open before Stein has even made his first incision.

Stein sets the scalpel down far to the side, where Spirit won’t see it right away. He didn’t make a conscious decision to let the older boy wake up this time, didn’t realize his actions were carefully calculated until the weapon moved, but now he has what he wanted on some unacknowledged level and he is feeling the encroaching fear of potential regret that it is too late to go back.

Spirit blinks at the meister. Stein can see the haze fading from the blue in his eyes, can see the moment they focus into confused recognition.

“Stein…?” Spirit’s voice is as groggy as his eyes. He blinks again, turns his head towards the bright white of the overhead lamp. “What…?”

Stein doesn’t have any words for him. He just watches, sees Spirit pull against the restraints on his hands as he tries to rub his face, pull again, twist his head to see what is holding him down. He can see the half-asleep consciousness and confusion shift into fright.

“Stein?” When Spirit looks back up at him there is panic and a plea at the back of his eyes for comfort, for reassurance that this isn’t exactly what it seems. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, and whatever Spirit sees in Stein’s face pulls the focus of the fear in his eyes onto Stein directly.

“Stein?” That is almost a whisper, audibly frightened and begging for reassurance. Stein can’t lie to Spirit, though. He’s never done so before. He’s not sure he would know how to.

“I’ve been experimenting on you.” The words sound flat and emotionless, like they carry less of a confession than they do, but Stein is only good at infusing his words with feeling when he is acting. Sincerity drops him flat and cold and all he can do right now is pour the truth out and see what happens. “I bring you in here after you’re asleep, cut you apart.” He reaches out for the scalpel, holds it up so it catches the light and underlines his words as much as the visceral pleasure scraping in his voice. Spirit’s eyes snag on the bright metal but only for a moment before they are back on Stein’s face. “I sew you back up afterward. I guess you hadn’t noticed yet.”

“...No.” Spirit’s voice is shaking now, his eyes are wide with unmitigated fright, and Stein can’t bear to see the expression in his eyes and can’t stand to let him up to run, as he is sure the weapon will run, so he looks away and down to the half-undone row of buttons on Spirit’s jacket. His left hand toys with the buttons still in place; his right still holds the scalpel and he can’t bring himself to put it down. He doesn’t have any idea what he is doing, but for now his body is willing to lead the way and he lets it. Action is better than awkward indecision.

“It’s just --” he fumbles for the words. It has never happened before, this speechlessness, but Stein has never tried to describe something he doesn’t understand before either. He’s never had something he didn’t understand until Spirit, never spent so long failing to make sense of a problem. His fingers hook around the V of the opening of Spirit’s coat, stroke across the shadowed skin underneath. “You are so  _interesting_ , senpai.” Spirit is holding his breath, muscles tight with fear, and the heartbeat under Stein’s sensitive fingertips is racing far faster than usual. “I need to find out what makes you you.”

“I’m not  _that_  interesting.” It is an attempt at a joke, but the words catch on the panic in Spirit’s voice and come out as a stutter. The weapon half-whimpers when Stein undoes another button before he locks his mouth shut around the sound. The extra inch lets the top edge of one of Stein’s most recent experiments show above the fabric of the shirt. Stein trails his fingers over the raised skin and hums in his throat before he realizes what he is doing.

“It looks  _right_.” He continues down the row of buttons until the front of Spirit’s shirt is open and he can pull the cloth aside one-handed. Spirit is shaking, probably mostly from fear and a little from cold, and he hasn’t looked away from Stein since he realized what is happened, has barely blinked. Stein has hardly glanced back at him, is fixing his eyes on his partner’s scarred torso and trailing his fingers across the natural lines of Spirit’s skin and watching the older boy’s heart beat in the curve of his throat.

“Your hands are cold,” Spirit says, very quietly, and Stein’s not sure he was meant to hear. He can’t do anything about his hands, but with Spirit awake he can do what he has always  _wanted_  to do and lean down to breathe a lungful of body-warm air across his exposed skin.

The weapon whimpers, tries to shy away against the ties that don’t let his body shift more than an inch or two, and Stein smiles even though his hair is blocking Spirit’s view of his mouth. There is pleasure speeding his heart, dark delight at having Spirit awake and why didn’t he do this sooner, this is so much more  _fun_  with Spirit awake, and the weak part of himself that tries to hold him back is panicking at the possible repercussions of this moment but Stein has never been particularly good at considering the fallout. He can feel Spirit jerk when his mouth brushes the weapon’s chest, feel the sound Spirit makes through the vibrations in his lips when he slides his tongue across the cold sweat on Spirit’s skin, feel the rapidfire pace of Spirit’s heart where his hand is braced against the other boy’s wrist.

He can feel the moment Spirit stops fighting, when he stops trying to flinch away and goes limp on the table, but apparent resignation doesn’t stop the panic in the weapon’s pulse and it doesn’t stop the satisfaction in Stein’s blood. He’s never done this before, there’s never been a point to anything but the cutting before, but Spirit is trembling under his hands and his mouth and his skin tastes salty and Stein can feel the texture of old scars under his tongue.

Stein feels Spirit’s skin warm before he notices anything else. When he brings his head up from where he was tracing the weapon’s hip with his tongue, Spirit’s eyes are tightly shut and his face is lined with concentrated distance, and the assumed relaxation in his muscles is still there, but there is a clear trail of pink where Stein’s mouth was.

He isn’t sure for a moment. An experimental touch of fingertips against Spirit’s chest brings up a matching pattern of red, and the weapon’s breath is still coming too-fast, but it’s not until Stein drags his hand down Spirit’s chest to the top of the weapon’s pants that he is sure.

“What are you  _doing_ ,” Spirit half-protests, but the words are weak in his throat and his breathing is stuttering like Stein’s fingers are controlling his air supply.

“Tell me to stop,” Stein says.

“Stein, st --” Spirit tries, but the second syllable is lost in a gasp of air as Stein presses his fingers hard into Spirit’s thigh and the weapon twists in a way that is not-quite-away from the touch.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.” Stein isn’t at all sure this is true, but the words come out like a purring invitation more than a promise. Spirit opens his mouth but no sound comes out, and then he looks away from Stein and up into the light and shuts his eyes and presses his lips together and flushes red all across his face.

Stein laughs. He can’t help it, the amusement bubbles up his throat like carbonation and heat is suffusing his blood because he did  _not_  expect this, even in the back of his mind that was carefully planning for Spirit to wake up, no part of him expected this reaction at all, and the  _surprise_  is almost as delightful as the fact itself, that Spirit is flushing hot under his touch and his breath is hitching from excitement rather than or at least in addition to fear. He can see every breath Spirit takes, fluttering against the skin of his throat and the muscles of his stomach, and when he touches Spirit’s jeans and slides his hand up, up, up, he can see the tension pull tight against the scars across Spirit’s skin.

Spirit’s eyes come open when Stein moves away, and this time when they catch on the scalpel they hold there. Stein can see the heat fade from the weapon’s face, can see the masking fog of pleasure swept clear by the adrenaline panic of fright again.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again. This time it sound like a taunt, but Spirit doesn’t say anything, even though his eyes track the metal until he can’t see it anymore, even though Stein can see him flinching at the shift of air over his skin in expectation of pain.

Stein has had enough practice to know how much pressure it takes to break Spirit’s skin with the edge of the scalpel. When he trails the cold across the weapon’s stomach, it is deliberately just shy of hard enough, pulling a panicked whimper from Spirit just before he adds enough pressure to cut him and turning the whimper into a gust of pained exhalation. The sound trickles against Stein’s spine, shivering like cold water against the flush of blood in his body, and he doesn’t realize he is smiling, all teeth and dark raw pleasure. Spirit doesn’t breathe in again until Stein pulls the blade away from his skin, and then his inhale is shallow, fluttering in his throat like wings so fast that hyperventilation is a real possibility. Blood is hot in his face, tracing circles of red against his cheekbones nearly the color of his hair, nearly the color of the trail against his abdomen. Stein traces his fingers against the cut, pulls red in curves against Spirit’s skin and listens to the weapon’s breathing race faster and faster.

“Breathe,” Stein finally tells him, putting meister-command into his voice, and Spirit gasps a lungful of air, his body reacting to the order before his mind can override it. “This will be better if you relax.” Another scrape of metal against skin, this time not hard enough to break, just to see the shift in Spirit’s breath, the movement of his body trying to pull away. “Relax.” Command, again, and Spirit goes limp for a moment as Stein sets pressure against the scalpel, digging deeper than he strictly intended.

Spirit makes a sound, far in the back of his throat, and it would be Stein’s name and it would be a plea if it weren’t such an instinctive reaction and so lined with startled pain. Stein brings his hand up to cover Spirit’s mouth without dropping the scalpel. Bloody fingerprints set against the corner of the weapon’s mouth, metal lies flat against his lips.

“Sssh,” Stein offers without any real conviction, reaching out with his free hand to manage the button on Spirit’s pants. His fingers are loose enough that Spirit can breathe around them; he can feel the pull of air around his fingers, the careful, frightened panic in the set of Spirit’s mouth to avoid accidentally cutting himself on the edge of the metal so close.

The button is difficult to handle one-handed, especially fighting against the tension in the fabric; after a moment Stein moves his hand so he’s got both together to attack the problem. The scalpel clatters against the metal of the table and Spirit jerks his head sideways away from it. With two hands the button and zipper are easy to manage; as soon as they come free Stein wraps his fingers around Spirit’s erection through the thin fabric of his boxers, watching the involuntary jerk of the weapon’s hips but listening to the low tone to his inhalation. He pulls harder than he should, giving too much friction too quickly, and Spirit groans, the sound totally wordless this time, but when Stein releases his grip Spirit’s hips follow his hand as much as they can and the weapon whimpers, and this time it  _is_  Stein’s name, barely there at all but still present.

“Spirit.” He means it to be teasing, a response to Spirit’s involuntary sound, but it comes out oddly low and strained, almost purring against his vocal chords, and Spirit shivers and opens his eyes to look at Stein.

“D-don’t stop.” The words are very soft but Spirit isn’t blinking and his blood-marked lips are as pink as if Stein has been kissing him rather than cutting him.

Stein’s can’t help the way his eyebrows climb at that anymore than he can help the absolutely  _agonizing_  rush of blood to his groin. He would have sworn up and down that he couldn’t possibly be any more aroused than he was already, but it hits him so hard he has to look away from Spirit’s face before he can make himself take another breath. His heart is racing when he reaches to pick the scalpel back up with a hand that only barely shakes, and then Spirit tips his head out of the way and it pulls the curve of his neck into a smooth line and it is very, very difficult to not set the blade against that line and trail feather-delicate scars across it. But he can’t trust his hands properly, not the way they’re trembling now, not on such a critically dangerous game, so he makes himself go farther down, consider the relatively clean spread of the weapon’s chest.

The sound Spirit makes when Stein brushes his fingers against his erection, lightly this time, barely making contact, goes straight through his blood like Resonance. He has to set the scalpel down again, trying to steady his breathing and the shake in his fingers, but Spirit is breathing too fast and he keeps adjusting his inhales to the weapon’s without meaning to.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he finally says, sharp and cold in the blurry heat of their shared breathing, and Spirit jerks, first in surprise and then in frustration as Stein moves his hand away and braces himself on the edge of the table. There’s not much space around Spirit’s body but Stein’s still compact, and he’s never been happier with the delay of his most recent growth spurt than he is now. It’s easy if not graceful to push himself up onto the table, and any complaint Spirit has about the shift evaporates into a startled exhale when Stein settles his weight over Spirit’s hips.

Ah. Yes. Stein’s hands are still shaking but his angle is better from this position, and he can brace himself against the table, and most importantly he can angle himself forward and dig his feet into Spirit’s thighs and grind his hips down like  _that_  and for a minute he forgets even the scalpel in his hands in the drag of friction over his skin and the gasping moan Spirit makes at the contact. His weapon arches up, trying to shift against the restraints that don’t allow him enough freedom of movement, and Stein’s eyes land against his wrists and note that there is definitely going to be some bruising from that. Spirit doesn’t appear to notice the tension, however, judging from the rate of his breathing and the gasp in his inhales.

Stein brushes down the center line of Spirit’s chest, just with a fingertip, and the older boy twists under the contact before he realizes there is no accompanying pain. His stuttering inhales are slowing; he shuts his eyes and swallows in a visible attempt to retain some sort of calm, and that is entirely unacceptable.

Stein rocks back, settling his weight on Spirit’s thighs for a minute so he can free his hands, and his right hand is still clinging to the blade but he has practice with his less-preferred left too, enough to wraps his fingers around Spirit’s erection and his weapon  _moans_ , shifts his hips as far up into Stein’s touch as they will go, and Stein’s not ever done this at this angle before and it’s strange and backwards and his wrist is at an awkward angle but Spirit is gasping on every inhale and whimpering on every exhale so he’s doing something right.

It’s hard to keep his balance with one hand occupied, and when Stein tries to lean forward it’s more of a topple than a graceful descent, but then he’s got Spirit underneath him and he can feel Spirit’s breathing instead of just seeing it and Spirit’s blood is soaking into his own shirt and sticking damp to his skin and the accidental pressure of his wrist against the front of his pants is tantalizing and  _nothing_  like enough at the same time, but he’s still breathing hard against Spirit’s collarbone, feels the heat of his breath fogging the air in front of his mouth. He parts his lips, runs his tongue along the dip of skin over bone, and Spirit tastes like blood and sweat and sugar.

Spirit’s breath is gusting against Stein’s hair, brushing back tendrils in uneven patterns, and when Stein looks up to see his face his eyes are open but unfocused, staring up into the light above them like it’s some puzzle that he can’t quite make sense of. His eyebrows are curved into confusion over those blue blue eyes, and Stein brings up his free hand to smooth a thumb over one without thinking. It streaks red-on-red and Spirit turns his head to look at Stein, jumping like he’s entirely forgotten where he is.

“Look at  _me_ , senpai,” Stein says, the words rising on his tongue with absolutely no process from his brain because his brain has been out of commission for several minutes now, and he tightens his grip with his left hand and Spirit’s lips part in a whimper and he starts to shut his eyes again, and Stein growls and skims the scalpel across Spirit’s ribcage. It flutters in his hand, his grip is shaky and the angle is bad and his whole body is trembling with the tension of holding himself up, but Spirit gasps in shock at the pain and opens his eyes wide.

“ _Me_ ,” Stein reiterates, and Spirit blinks and looks at him and his eyes are still dazed but he is tracking Stein now, his gaze skidding along Stein’s cheekbones and down his nose and Stein has never blushed before in his life but blood is rising under his skin to follow Spirit’s eyes and now  _he’s_  breathing fast, speeding past Spirit’s rhythm all at once, and his angled strokes are increasing in pace too.

Spirit is pulling hard against the restraints, this close Stein can see the blood rising under skin torn thin with friction, and this is  _stupid_  this angle is wrong and he can barely hold the scalpel right now anyway. He drops the blade. It clatters to the floor but he barely notices it, reaching up to tug at the ties on Spirit’s wrist. The right one is easy -- Spirit even goes slack to give him the freedom to work it loose -- but Stein failed to count on Spirit’s activity once he had a hand free. The weapon twists under him, almost knocking Stein off the table with more strength than Stein thought he had, and reaches to undo his other wrist. Stein is trying to reach it as well, but his balance is severely compromised and he’s not as tall as Spirit is and the weapon gets to it first, and as soon as his hands are free he is surging up towards Stein, his bruised hands fisting into the meister’s tangled silver hair and pulling Stein’s mouth to his so hard that their teeth hit together and Stein’s mouth fills with the taste of his blood as his lip catches and tears. It is not pleasant but Spirit is growling against his bleeding lips and that  _is_  quite pleasant, and then Spirit grabs Stein’s hip with one hand and the front of his pants with the other, and Stein makes a sound that he has never made before in his life and loses his balance. Luckily they go back to the table instead of sideways, but Spirit pushes them back up and is trying to manage Spirit’s pants and talk around Stein’s mouth, and after several attempts manages to hiss “ _Untie my feet_.”

It’s impossibly hard to move away from him, to retreat from the hold of Spirit’s hands on him and the magnetism of Spirit’s mouth, but Stein can’t reach Spirit’s feet without moving and eventually Spirit shoves him backwards. Stein falls off the table, landing hard on the floor, and it is painful enough that he would pause but there are much more important things to worry about and by the time he is on his feet Spirit has slid forward and is pulling at the cuff around his right ankle so Stein can focus on the left.

As the restraints come undone Stein realizes that he has lost control of the situation, that he has no idea what to do now with Spirit awake and conscious and  _free_ , but Spirit is sliding forward and appears to have some idea, and then Spirit’s feet hit the floor and his hands lock onto Stein’s shoulders and he promptly falls over, pulling the meister down with him.

Spirit lands on top and knocks all the wind out of Stein, and this is going to  _really_  hurt once the adrenaline wears off. Spirit is shoving him down with a hand on his shoulder and the weapon is looking down with a half-smirk that Stein recognizes from the mirror more than from Spirit himself.

“Did you  _drug_  me?” he asks.

Stein can’t breathe at all, still hasn’t caught his breath from the fall or the racing of his pulse, and he tries to say “Yes” but can’t manage the word so he just nods instead.

“You  _bastard_ ,” Spirit offers, and slides his fingers down the front of Stein’s pants and boxers to skim his fingers across his erection. Stein entirely stops breathing. “You  _sick freak_. Can’t even  _seduce_  someone right.” The words are aggressive but his touch is feather-light and he is still smiling like Stein does and Stein can’t remember how his hands work. “Don’t  _ever_  do this again.”

Stein still can’t get his lungs to work on their own, so his breathing is staticy when he remembers to inhale and exhale consciously, but he does manage to get his right hand to the open front of Spirit’s jeans. His fingers almost don’t obey, but then they close around Spirit’s erection through the cloth and Spirit hums, shuts his eyes, and his smile turns into a real one, his own.

“Okay,” he allows, breathy and high. “You can do  _this_  again.” He rocks back on his heels, frees his other hand so he can open Stein’s pants, and Stein lets his eyes trace the trickle of blood down the weapon’s chest while his hand sets a pace in time with Spirit’s breathing instead of his own choking pattern. It still feels strange and backwards but when he tightens his grip Spirit’s eyelashes flutter and he groans, and Stein can feel the tension in Spirit’s thighs at his hips so he must be doing something right.

Spirit gets Stein’s pants open and wraps his hand around the meister’s cock and Stein has to shut his eyes for a moment because he can  _feel_  all the differences in Spirit’s hands, the shorter fingers and the different pattern of calluses and the strange angle and the unfamiliar stroke and he didn’t really think about how  _good_  the differences would feel. They spark through his veins like electricity and fire and he doesn’t realize that he is sighing on his exhale until he feels the sound vibrating in his throat. Spirit laughs, low and pleased, and then Stein presses his thumb against the almost-fist he is making and it twists into a hiss of satisfaction.

Stein is trying to focus, he really is, but the sensation is too much almost to stand, Spirit is squeezing harder than Stein usually does himself and his hand is so very warm and either Stein’s eyes are open and he can see Spirit’s  _mouth_  or he shuts them and he sees the very recent past replaying behind his eyelids and his body is tipping towards orgasm embarrassingly fast in spite of Spirit’s head start. Spirit keeps speeding up, changing his angle and increasing the pressure so Stein can’t catch his breath, and his own fingers are going loose and his pattern long ago ceased to exist but he can’t regain his grip on his senses, everything is whiting out at the edges like the light haloing Spirit’s red hair over him, and his body lights up with white-hot pleasure and Stein loses track of his hands and his voice and his vision and for a moment there is just  _satisfaction_  low in his stomach and rippling out into his toes and fingers.

It only lasts a few seconds, he thinks, but it feels like the world has come to a halt in the time it takes for his senses to come back and tell him what he is doing. He’s turned sideways, curled half around Spirit’s leg, and his bloody hand is in his hair and his mouth is open and he probably looks approximately like he’s been shocked, and Spirit’s hand has gone still and he is looking at Stein like the world just rearranged itself around the meister.

They stare at each other for a moment, Stein blinking like he’s never seen anything before and Spirit frozen entirely still, and then Stein’s fingers catch up to his brain and he reaches back down for Spirit’s erection because he has  _priorities_.

Spirit lets Stein go, shifts a sticky hand to the meister’s hip to mirror his other, and stops protesting, just lets his shoulders slump forward and his mouth drop open and gives all his attention to Stein’s unpracticed movements. Stein  _wants_  Spirit to look at him, wants to see those blue eyes, but he doesn’t remember how to talk and at this angle he can see every time a shudder ripples across Spirit’s shoulders, and he’s not really going to argue about that. He pushes up with his free hand so he’s closer; he can’t quite sit up with Spirit on his lap like he is, but he is eye-level with the fall of Spirit’s hair and up close he can hear the stutter in Spirit’s throat and the weapon is really very close.

Once more, twice, three times, and then on the fourth Spirit arches back, tips his head up to the light, and moans “ _Stein_ ” as if he  _always_  says Stein’s name when he comes, and the idea is very nearly enough to distract Stein from the way he can see the muscles in Spirit’s stomach flex, from the way Spirit’s body curves out instead of in like his does, from the tracery of shallow cuts all across Spirit’s torso. Not quite, of course. He has sorted out his priorities now. And besides, there will be other experiments.


End file.
